


one lifetime will have to do

by jhoom



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Joe didn't mean to fall in love with the cute Italian guy, but honestly he couldn't help himself. Now he has to deal with the consequences.Where Nicky wasn't born in the Crusades and isn't immortal, and Joe has to come to terms with the fact that he'll one day lose the love of his life... whether it's decades or only a few years from now.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 95
Kudos: 841
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	one lifetime will have to do

**Author's Note:**

> a [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) bingo card fill. we're back on the angst train with today's prompt: "going into shock"
> 
> come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) where i'm taking prompts for [my current bingo card](https://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/626343042674294785/jhoomwrites-here-is-your-new-card-for-bad-things).
> 
> i've made a couple changes to canon here: once they become immortal they can't die, quynh never went overboard, and ~~coming back to life the first time takes a lot longer than we see in canon~~

The wedding is perfect. The whole affair is small but intimate: the decorations are beautiful, the food is fantastic, the vows are heartwarming, and the company is cheerful. 

It’s a shame she has to ruin it.

“He’ll die, you know,” Andy says quietly when they’re alone at the bar. Joe is watching Nicky dance with his mother, transfixed on the sight. He looks so in love that Andy hates doing it, but she has to say it one more time. Just in case. “Sooner than you think.” 

The song changes. Nicky’s attention is taken by another relative. A sister, Andy thinks, but she hasn’t kept track; the guest list is admittedly rather one-sided. There’s Andy and Booker, of course, Lykon and Quynh and Nile. A few friends they’ve made in this little temporary life they’ve built for themselves on the coast of Italy. The rest is all Nicky.

Joe continues to watch Nicky dance, so lost in thought Andy thinks she won’t get an answer. It’s only when the last few notes of the song fill the room that he turns to Andy with tears in his eyes. 

“I know,” he says with a broken voice. “I know he’ll die and leave me. I will spend an eternity mourning that man. It is not how I would have wished things, but I would rather love him for a few decades and lose him to time than to go the rest of my days wondering what could have been if I had not taken that chance.”

Andy can’t help a sad smile. It’s sweet, and she wishes Joe the happiness of those decades. She hopes Nicky is one of the good ones—by all accounts, he is—who will not grow angry or scared when he eventually learns Joe cannot age. 

Or die. 

They all remember Booker’s family and his struggles in the aftermath of their rejection. Andy doesn’t wish that on anyone, but she certainly doesn’t want it for Joe. Joe is so _good_ , so kind despite the long, harsh years since his rebirth during the Crusades… She doesn’t want to see him break to pieces over this. 

“You’ve stolen my husband,” Nicky says, a gently possessive hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I would like to claim him for another dance, if I may.”

Andy does her best to keep his attention while Joe rubs his eyes with the back of his hand as subtly as he can. 

“You may, so long as I get one with each of you before the end of the night.” Her smile is genuine, even if she feels a knot in her stomach. She loves Joe, and by extension she can feel herself starting to love Nicky, too. Who said she was too old to take on another son? 

Nicky grins at her. “Of course. Just my luck, you’ve saved me from asking you. I was not sure if you were the dancing type.” 

“Oh, she dances quite terribly,” Joe says. His earlier happiness is back, and his grin is as charming as ever. Andy’s glad that her morbid reminders haven’t ruined his special day. “I hope you don’t mind her stepping on your toes, my heart.” 

She smacks Joe playfully on the chest. “I dance just fine, asshole. You’re the one with two left feet.” 

“He dances quite well,” Nicky says. “For a beginner. We’ve been taking lessons. He has only tripped me once and stepped on my feet six times.” 

Joe feigns indignation. “My heart, you cannot tell her such things. She will never let me forget it. Besides…” He takes Nicky’s hand in his and kisses it softly. “I owe all my dancing success to you. I am very happy to go where you lead.” 

“Perhaps you were never a bad dancer. You just needed the right partner.” Nicky pulls Joe towards the dance floor, motioning for the band to finally start the next song. It’s an old love ballad, one of Joe’s favorites, and they easily fall into step together. 

Nicky leads, and Joe gladly follows. 

Andy laughs. She can’t help it, seeing the two of them together lifts her mood a little. In the grand scheme of things, she’s not sure a few decades filled with love are enough to offset the centuries of loneliness afterwards… but she understands why Joe would want this. 

It’s a longshot, but she hopes it works out for the best.

~ ~ ~

It is a tricky thing, being with Nicky. There is an invisible clock ticking, their time together slowly disappearing. Joe has no way of knowing _how much_ time there is, how much he’s already lost; he does his best to cherish what time there is, knowing that there could never be enough.

It is also a very easy thing. There are endless kisses and professions of love. Evenings spent cooking together, hips bumping as they pass each other in the too small kitchen in their too small flat. Lazy Sundays where they spend all day in bed, memorizing each other’s body as if they didn’t already know it better than their own. And nights where Joe cannot sleep because of old nightmares, nights that used to be awful and he’d have to abandon the prospect of sleep altogether; with Nicky those nights are not just bearable but almost pleasant as he takes out a book and reads to Joe until he is soothed enough to sleep. 

But there is always his secret, and Joe is too much a coward to share it. He has seen the way people turn on them, time and time again, when they discover what they are. Awe can turn to fear and anger very quickly, and it leaves everything that once was shattered in its wake. 

He trusts Nicky, he does, but he is still scared. The knowledge that this will end sooner or later, that he would have to give up his happy domesticity with Nicky, that it _could_ end at any moment, it’s painful enough; the thought that Nicky might be the one to end it… 

It would break him. 

So he is selfish, and he hides it.

~ ~ ~

There are times when he cannot _quite_ hide his true nature. 

In all practical senses, Joe is an ordinary man. He’s not going on missions right now, despite Andy frequently offering when it’s been a while. She knows he gets restless. But no, he will not lose the time with Nicky on such things. He would rather walk the beaches by their little home than fly to the ends of the world fighting a fight that he’s not always sure is theirs to fight. 

He is still doing good, he reasons. Here in this town, in this country, he does small acts of kindness. 

Here, he is but a regular man married to another regular man, both of them unremarkable except in small, normal ways. It is easy enough to blend in over the span of a few years. It will be tricky later on, but for now it isn’t too difficult. 

But there are still close calls.

Not because of Joe, but because of _Nicky_. 

Nicky, who is busy pointing out the shape of the clouds in the sky that he doesn’t notice the car coming. Joe pushes him aside, takes the brunt of the hit because he knows he _can_ take it. Sure, he might have to fake a limp for the next few days, but it’s worth it if it means making sure Nicky isn’t hurt. 

Nicky, who would willingly jump into a stormy sea to save a child from another boat who’s fallen overboard. Nicky is a good swimmer, but Joe will not take the risk; he’s the one who dives in and helps the terrified boy and accepts the thanks of the boy’s mother and the praise of his husband. It would be too much to explain his motive was not so selfless as they thought it to be. 

Nicky, who would willingly scare off a rabid animal from their garden if it weren’t for Joe going out there to do it for him. A good thing, too, since he is bitten and scratched and feels the awfulness of the virus trying to twist through him for an hour before it abruptly disappears. He hides the wounds from Nicky, though, and smiles through his fever. Better him than Nicky, always. 

It might be a full-time job, protecting Nicky from his own good nature, but it is a job Joe is more than happy to do. 

~ ~ ~

Nicky leaves the bed to get a drink of water. Joe is not happy about the loss of warmth, but he begrudgingly allows his husband out of his arms. 

He is a fool. 

There is a crash and a yell from the kitchen, and Joe has a gun in hand as he races to the commotion. The kitchen looks empty in the darkness, though he knows better; when he switches on the light, he wishes it _were_ empty. 

The back door is off its hinges, a window is shattered, and there lies Nicolo in a pool of blood. 

There is a knife, stained red and discarded. Not one of theirs, though he’s not sure that makes it any better. 

These things do not happen here, not to anyone, not to _them_. It is a small town, after all. Everyone knows everyone. This is not among the hundreds of ways he worried he’d lose Nicky. A car crash, perhaps, or a battle with cancer. Not a home invasion in the middle of the night. 

He dutifully calls for an ambulance. He knows it will do no good. Nicky's hands are clammy where they aren't covered in blood; he grows cold by the second, trembling uncontrollably in Joe's arms. Nicky’s body is going into shock as it scrambles to handle the trauma of the wound, and after that… 

After that… 

“Nicolo,” he pleads. He squeezes the wound as tightly as he can. His own hands are steady, and he is thankful for that, but his mind is racing. He has seen death enough times to not know how this ends. “Nicolo, hayati, do not leave me. How can I go on without my heart?” 

“Joe,” Nicky gurgles. There is blood on his lips when he speaks. He clutches at Joe, his hands constantly moving and fumbling as they reach for his hands, his shoulder, his face. “Yusuf,” he begs, and it feels like it’s Joe that’s dying to hear the fear in his beloved’s voice. “It hurts.” 

“I know.” There are tears stinging his eyes and a sob screaming to be set free, but he holds them back; there will be time for his own pain later. He leans in close so that all Nicky can see is him, and he prays Nicky can see at least a shred of the love he holds for him. “I know it hurts, my love. I am here. I’ll stay with you, always.” 

They are too close for Joe not to see every flash of agony in Nicky’s eyes, feel very shiver and convulsion that wracks Nicky’s body; and he is too close not to feel when the shivering stops or to see when the light leaves his eyes. 

He waits, because he’s accustomed to waiting. When it’s the team, all he has to do is _wait_ and then eventually their death is _over_ , cast aside like an ill-fitting pair of gloves. 

When the ambulance arrives and the paramedics come to claim the body, Joe knows that there is no amount of waiting that will do him any good now.

~ ~ ~

The house is empty and quiet. The police have finally let him back in, all the evidence of what happened collected or washed away. He is alone in the darkness, feeling its weight on his shoulders like a physical ache. 

Joe sticks to the living room, his back to the kitchen. He’ll starve before he goes back in there.

His phone rings, abandoned on the coffee table. He debates whether or not to answer it, but when he sees the name on the screen, he sighs and resigns himself to getting this conversation out of the way. 

“Joe?” she asks as soon as he answers. “Are you okay?” 

He can tell from Andy’s voice that she knows. They mostly leave him be, but he is unsurprised that Andy keeps tabs on him. 

“I thought I had more time,” he whispers. He’s aware that he is toneless, that his voice is devoid of any feeling. The only thing he feels right now is empty, so he supposes it’s fitting. 

“I know,” Andy says. He can hear the pain in her voice, and it almost angers him. How can she know what he feels? Andy who has Quynh, who will _always_ have Quynh? “We’ll catch a plane. We can be there in a few hours—” 

“No,” he says a little too sharply. “No, I need to be alone.” 

A long, drawn silence on the other end of the line. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Andy says with measured words. 

He can hear voices in the background, thinks it must be Nile asking for the phone. He can imagine it clearly: Andy holding her at arm’s length; Nile’s patience growing thin as she looks for a moment to spring forward and grab it; Quynh standing in the shadows to help should either woman need it; Booker and Lykon drinking while playing cards, waiting for the order to ship out. 

That is his family, half a world away despite the way they live and breathe in his heart, and he loves them. 

But they do, in fact, live and breathe on their own. They will always draw breath, always have a next heartbeat, always keep going in the face of everything. 

Nicky’s the one he’s lost, the one who now only lives in a chipped, battered piece of his soul. Nicky’s the one that he needs, the one that’s irreplaceable, and he’s the one that’s _gone_. From this second on, there will never be another moment with Nicolo al-Kaysani, _ever_. 

“I am alone,” Joe says. “Whether you are here or not, I will be alone.”

“Then we’ll be there,” she says firmly. She hangs up so he can’t argue with her, and he sighs into the emptiness. 

Perhaps it would be nice to see a friendly face, he tells himself. Even if it’s the _wrong_ face.

~ ~ ~

He falls asleep on the couch. He’s exhausted, and he lets it happen. What is the alternative, anyway? Awake or asleep, he’ll mourn. At least if he’s asleep, he can dream of Nicky in his arms. 

When he wakes, it’s to the sound of the front door gently closing. Footsteps, timid and unsure, in the hallway. Joe sighs and rubs the sleep from his eyes. When Andy said a few hours, he somehow hadn’t expected it to be so _soon—_

“Joe?” 

He freezes. He knows that voice intimately. Has heard that voice happy and sad, tired and in rare fits of anger, in the throes of passion and in calm moments of domesticity. 

It’s Nicky’s voice. 

Joe scrambles to his feet and nearly slips on the smooth tile floor. He practically vaults over the back of the couch to get to Nicky, who is _alive_ in their house despite Joe knowing his body was cold and empty when he was taken to the morgue. 

“Nicolo, habibi,” he says when he reaches him, cupping his cheek and leaning in. He buries his nose in Nicky’s hair and breathes him in. His nose wrinkles a little—he can smell that distinct chemical smell that he associates with hospitals and science labs—but underneath that he catches a whiff of Nicky’s rich scent. He grounds himself in that scent before he pulls away to look at Nicky more carefully. 

“Joe,” Nicky croaks, and the same fear is in his eyes as when he died. “I don’t know what happened, but you must believe me—” 

“Hush, my heart.” Joe kisses his nose and then pulls him in for a hug. Nicky absolutely melts into it, his body shuddering with a choked sob. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. I was so worried I would never get to hold you again.” 

Nicky pulls away then. It pains Joe to be kept at arm’s length, but he is patient; he knows this is hard for Nicky—first deaths always are—so he will let him say what he feels he must. 

“I think I died,” Nicky says. He gestures down to his clothes, the same ratty shirt and shorts he wore to bed. There is a hole in the shirt where the knife went in, dried blood caked all over it. He has no shoes, no socks, just bare feet covered in dirt. He certainly looks like a man who crawled out of his own grave, so to speak. 

He looks beautiful. 

“You did, hayati,” Joe says gently. “I was there. I watched. I’m glad you’re back—” 

“How can I be back!?” Nicky’s voice is strangled. “I _died_! This is not natural at all! I should still be on that exam table in the morgue—” 

“Do not say such terrible things.” He crowds into Nicky’s space again, trying to give him something to focus on other than his confusion. It works a little, in that Nicky clutches at his arms and rests his forehead against Joe’s shoulder. “You are alive, and that is what matters.”

“I am a freak,” Nicky mumbles into his chest. 

“You are spectacular,” Joe corrects and begins to run his hands through Nicky’s hair. The strands are matted with blood; they will have to take a shower before they leave. “You have no idea how happy I am to know you are like the rest of us. I thought I would have to learn to go on without you, and yet—” 

“Like the rest of you,” Nicky repeats. He looks up with suspicious eyes. “Like who? What does that mean?” 

Joe blinks, then realizes he was too busy enjoying Nicky’s immortality that he neglected to explain it. 

“You cannot die,” he says. “You are immortal, my love. Like me.” 

Nicky reels back a little like he’s been slapped. “What?” 

“Me and my family, we are immortal,” he says again. “We cannot die. We get hurt, we heal. We die, we come back. Nile is so young, so new, I never dreamed there would be another so soon…” 

This time when the tears come, he makes no attempt to stop them. He and Nicky can be together for _ages_ , time measured in centuries instead of the mere handful of years he’d rationed out. 

“This makes no sense,” Nicky argues. “I don’t— We aren’t—” He pauses then, quirks his head as he narrows his eyes at Joe. “How old _are_ you?” 

“Older than you,” Joe teases. 

“You said you were only three years older than me,” Nicky says suspiciously. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” 

Joe shrugs. “A little.” 

Nicky levels him a look. 

“I was born in 1066,” he says dismissively, as though it isn’t important. As old as he is, it isn’t. “I died in the first Crusade.” 

He remembers that first death rather vividly. A fight that was not truly his, but a fight he could not walk away from as the invaders marched towards Jerusalem under a foreign banner and with the name of God on their lips but the look of the Devil in their eyes. There was blood and dust and the smell of decay early on in that battle, and there also felt to be something missing. Someone, perhaps, a ghost who was not there who should have been. Joe never understood what the strangeness of that fight meant, but when he woke up with a spear through his chest, he finally figured it out. 

Nicky's jaw drops at the admission. 

“I am sorry for hiding it from you,” Joe says quickly. “It is the one secret I kept. People, they don’t understand it. My friends, my family—” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “People walk away from us when they find out. I could not stand to lose you like that.” 

There are long minutes as Nicky stands there, searching Joe’s face. He frowns as he inspects his husband, as though he’s not sure he recognizes the man in front of him. Or perhaps because he _does_ , and he’s not sure he’s supposed to anymore. 

“I’m going to lose my family,” Nicky says slowly. “Is that what you are saying?” 

Joe winces. “Eventually. That might require a longer discussion, perhaps with Booker or Nile. They’re the ones who have gone through that loss more recently than the rest of us. I never saw my family again after I found out, if only because it was truly a different time. I did not want to burden them with the rumors of superstitious neighbors who would not hesitate to do terrible things to them if they felt afraid of me.” 

“Joe.” He sounds heartbroken as he pulls Joe into a hug. “I wish you had told me these things about yourself. There is so much of you I don’t know, isn’t there?” 

“I will share it all with you,” he promises, then jokes, “I hope you weren’t planning to divorce me, my heart. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for quite a long time.” 

There must be something in the way he says it. Some of his ease and uncertainty leaks through, because Nicky stiffens in his arms. 

“Joe?” he says, utterly calm. Joe knows him well enough to know nothing good comes when Nicky gets this angry. “You think I do not still love you? That this changes how I feel about you?” 

He hesitates. “I would not blame you if it did. You were agreeing to a single lifetime, not—” 

Lightning quick, Nicky pulls back and smacks Joe’s shoulder. Hard. 

“I am not pleased that you would hide yourself from me, but it does not change how I feel. I might be… considerably younger than you, but I am not a child. Allow me to know my own heart well enough to be sure nothing, not even immortality, could shake you from it.” 

He cannot help it, but Joe heaves a sigh of relief. “I am not sure what I ever did to deserve you, my heart, but I am glad I did it. Or perhaps I _will_ do it. I will spend every day trying to be half the man you deserve—” 

“Hush,” Nicky says, though there’s a smile at the corner of his lips. He looks much calmer than when he first snuck back into their home, and Joe is glad for it. This is not an easy thing to learn about yourself, and he is glad Nicky is taking it in stride. “Will you help me clean up and change? I want to burn these clothes. I don’t like the memory of it.” 

They take their time cleaning up and packing. They can’t linger long; when they find the morgue empty in the morning, they’ll start looking and asking questions. They only have a few hours, and then they can never come back to this home they built together. 

“I don’t know what to take,” Nicky admits as he hovers by their mantle. There are pictures there, other mementos of not just their time together but of Nicky’s life. 

Joe takes their wedding photo out of his hand and puts it back on the mantle; he replaces it with a picture of Nicky, his mother, and his sister. 

“I’m coming with you,” he says in answer to Nicky’s silent question. “You don’t need reminders of what we share. I am more than happy to remind you of that myself. Take what I cannot offer. Take your family.” 

Nicky nods in understanding. It seems to make his packing a little easier. 

When they are ready to go, planning to meet Andy and the others at the nearest airport, they linger a little in the doorway. Good-byes are always difficult.

Joe offers his hand. “Shall we go, my love?” 

Nicky doesn’t hesitate to accept it. “Go where?” he asks, almost like it’s a secondary question. Like it doesn’t matter, so long as he’s with Joe. 

Joe kisses his knuckles and smiles. “Wherever we wish to go, habibi. Wherever we wish at all.” 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Bonus Scene: when the rest of the team arrives**  
>  **andy:** okay guys, let’s try to be sensitive. this is gonna be really hard for joe.  
>  **everyone:** *nods; booker gets some booze ready*  
>  **joe:** hey everyone :)  
>  **everyone:** ????  
>  **nile:** he’s taking this too well. this is suspicious, right??  
>  **lykon:** he’s gone mad with sadness  
>  **andy:** joe, are you okay—?  
>  **joe:** i am wonderful :)))  
>  **quynh:** okay, i’ll knock him out, you guys get rope—  
>  **andy:** wait, let him explain. why are you wonderful?  
>  **joe:** *pulls nicky into the room*  
>  **everyone:** 🤯  
> 
> 
> ~~but imagine the alternative where nicky’s too slow coming back and joe’s left in despair and nicky comes back to an empty house, no sign of joe and ofc joe has no reason to expect nicky to be alive and so there are years of separation before they find each other again and imagine joe’s shock and his despair that he left nicky to figure this shit out all alone~~
> 
> [and if you're interested in that alternate angst, good news - someone wrote it!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210470)


End file.
